


learn to love yourself

by periwinklepandas



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Griangst, Hermitcraft - Freeform, Other, Sad Charles | Grian, Watcher! Grian, Winged Charles | Grian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periwinklepandas/pseuds/periwinklepandas
Summary: Grian hates his watcher powers, but they're a fundamental part of him now, and he hates that.He comes to terms with them in a late-night excursion at a wheat field. (reposted from my (taken down) oneshot book)
Kudos: 56





	learn to love yourself

**Author's Note:**

> original notes:// tw :// self-hate , slight ptsd  
> notes:// From the person who brought you 1.5k words straight of messy plotless minecraft server angst, here's- yep, you guessed it, MORE ANGST, but hermitcraft and watcher grian this time bc i love to torture my faves. yes, the hermitcraft part of the story title is getting it's oneshot now (sorry to the ppl who bookmarked this for dream smp that are now confused lol)  
> enjoy :)  
> word count : 1012

The sky was alit with lavender and pink hues, the evening sun shining onto the rows and rows of wheat lining the ground.

Grian, sitting on a rock poking out from the ground randomly, sighed. 

Shuffling his wings, the wings that were both a curse and a blessing, the wings he  _ hated,  _ despised, the wings that had been "gifted" to him by  _ them.  _ A burst of violet fire burst from his fingertips, and Grian cursed. 

Cursed the Watchers for giving this power to him, cursed himself for not being in control, cursed everything in existence because he hated this and  _ he wanted to cry- _

Tears dropped down from his clear blue eyes, bright as diamonds, to his signature red sweater, staining it with wet patches.

You see, there was a reason Grian hated his wings. There was a reason he never raised his voice at anyone, a reason he flinched from loud noises and sudden movements; and there was a reason that even though he was happy and outgoing and a ray of sunshine during the day, sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night, trembling in cold sweat and sobbing uncontrollably from nightmares.

_ The Watchers. _

Those monsters, monsters only wanted to see  _ pain, pain  _ and suffering. They took him away from his friends, his  _ family  _ , and slaughtered them in cold blood. 

They forced him to join them, imposing upon his knowledge and responsibilities he didn't want, would never want despite how many times the Watchers told him that he would come to understand how important the work they did was, and how he would eventually see the "error of his ways".

They gave him powers he didn't want, powers that they said he should be grateful to have, powers that he hated.

And when he escaped, he'd made two promises to himself :

1 . Never raise his voice at anyone. Never raise his voice at anyone, because he knew how traumatic and terrible it was to be constantly yelled at, belittled, looked down at.

2 . Hide his powers away and never use them. Never use them, because it only serves to remind him of those horrible years locked away in that tower, and it's the Watchers's way of telling him that whatever he does, he's always going to be a part of them, never going to truly escape them. And he's seen what that power can do anyways. It destroys, it kills, it always takes and never gives.

So he never uses his powers, but it's hard. It's hard to hide his wings, because at the end of the day when he pops them out of his back and stretches them, it hurts; and flying with elytra instead of his wings always feels unnatural,  _ artificial.  _ It's hard to conceal his powers, because they come out with his emotions, flaring up when he's angry and upset; and it feels so  _ natural  _ to use them, even just to pick a dropped pencil up or carry a stack of books across the room. Grian doesn't want to admit it to himself, but it feels  _ wrong  _ to hide his powers, because like it or not, they're a fundamental part of him now.

Grian screams, azure purple flames flickering around him, licking at his fingertips, lighting the night sky a vivid violet.

He screams, because he can't even control his own powers.

He screams, because his powers are a part of him now, a part of him that he  _ hates _ , and he just wants to go back to Evo with his friends and forget this ever happened. 

When Grian comes back to his senses, curled up into a ball and inhaling ragged breaths, shaking uncontrollably, the ground around him is charred black, and the moon is already hanging high in the night sky.

And strangely it's here, here in this half-burnt wheat field, that he finally finds space to  _ think. _

He hears Taurtis's voice.

"  _ I think that nothing is, in itself, strictly good or bad. Everything on earth is neutral, as is the law of yin and yang. Take water as an example: it can be used to hurt, destroy, take, as much as it can be used to heal, create, give. In the end, it is not the item that matters, so much as your intentions, and your intentions only." _

And then hears Mumbo's voice, ringing out in his head clear as day.

_ "Learn to love yourself. Learn to love the fundamental parts of yourself, because otherwise, you'll never flourish and be the happiest you can be in life. Even if someone you hate, someone you despise caused those parts, it's ok. It's ok, because those parts of yourself are  _ **_ not  _ ** _ a mark of that person. It is yours, and yours only, and you have the power to choose what to do with them. You can choose to say screw you and use those parts to create something beautiful, to use those parts for healing, to create something great." _

_ "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, after all."  _

Grian feels tears slip from his eyes, but not from frustration or grief.

He raises his hands, and shimmering purple particles emerge from his fingertips and float off into the night sky, each humming with power.

The good kind.

Waving his hand, he arranges the particles into a breathtaking picture, painting the heavens into something magnificent. It's of leaping, prancing dolphins, of soaring, free birds, of colorful blooming flowers and plants twisting up throughout the skies, the infinite, clear night skies that makes one feel  _ free _ . His magic breathes life into the picture, animating it in a way he'd never known was possible before.

Dawn breaks, the sky changing from dark, serene blue to pale, lively pink, and Grian hums a tune to himself, realizing that his friends are right.

He has indeed created something beautiful, something that he's proud of with his magic.

He can learn to accept it, accept it as a part of himself.

And the Watchers couldn't do anything about it, because the magic was his, and his only.

word count: 1012


End file.
